


baking

by liionne



Series: academy domesticity [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Birthday, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard doesn't celebrate birthdays, Jim has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baking

Leonard McCoy does not celebrate birthdays. It's a fact. Ever since the divorce, even before that, in the last few years when Leonard and Jocelyn weren't even friends, let alone partners, he hasn't celebrated a single birthday. And now he's pushing 34 and he's not sure he's actually celebrated a birthday since his mid-twenties, other than a little present and a cupcake with a single candle on it, sent to him by his mother every year (Eleanora McCoy refused to acknowledge Leonard's reply of 'Nothin', ma, stop sendin' things' when she asked what he wanted for his birthday).

When Jim corners him about his birthday, he does it rather subtly. They're sat in the bath, the real water bath, something they paid a hell of a lot of credits for (but it's alright, Jim's got his Starfleet Killed My Father Fund), Jim's back press to Leonard's chest. The older presses his lips to the top of Jim's head, and Jim laces their fingers together, turning into him just a little.

"It's your birthday soon." He muses.

"Mm." Leonard hums. It's noncommittal— he's not saying it is or it isn't, not confirming what Jim knows to be fact.

"We should celebrate." He persists, earning a frown from Leonard. His last birthday, during their first year of the academy, had been a secret until the day after, when his mother's package had arrived, little pink cupcake, complete with candle, wrapped up carefully so as not to be squished during the ride over from Georgia. Jim hadn't been best pleased, ranting about, _"If I had of known Bones I would got you a gift and we could have had cake why didn't you tell me this is so like you i would have offered birthday sex and everything we could have went out for drinks or something you cantankerous bastard—"_

He didn't mention how they were still in that will-they-won't-they stage, so birthday sex was off the table, and Jim didn't even celebrate his own birthdays, so he wasn't one to talk.

But anyway, this year, he's caught him early. Leonard huffs.

"'s alright. I don't care, Jim. 'm the wrong side of thirty, birthdays stop counting after that."

Jim snorts, mutters something about how boring Bones is, and leaves it that. Leonard's glad; he's glad he's not going to push. But he's also suspicious. Jim never lets a subject drop like that. Not so soon.

Something devious is about to happen.

~*~

And the next day, Leonard finds out what it was. He returns home from an early morning shift at Starfleet Medical and a lecture (one was cancelled, he was very pleased) to find Jim stood at their tiny kitchenette, his PADD blasting music at the same decibel level as a small shuttle, an apron tied around his waist and flour on every single surface- some of it even hangs in the air. Leonard knows _exactly_ what is going on.

  
"What the hell do you think you're doing, you little reprobate?" He asks, stepping towards Jim, who turns, startled. He musn't have heard the door open over the sound of Nicki Minaj (he likes retro music, apparently. Leonard wishes he'd stop).

"What the hell do _you_ think you're doing?" Jim demands, and Leonard can see a stripe of flour running directly down his nose. "You're supposed to be in xenocommunications right now. Are you skipping a lecture? You never skip lectures." Jim's eyes narrow, and Leonard takes a step forward.

"—was cancelled." He says, shrugging his shoulders. "But I asked you first. What the hell are you doing, you reprobate?"

Jim continues to look suspicious for all of two seconds, and then he sags. "I was going to make you a birthday cake. It was supposed to be a surprise."

He looks so upset that Leonard's chest aches a little, and so he closes the gap between them and sets a hand on Jim's hip, the other tilting his head up by curling a finger under his chin.

"It's the thought that counts, kid." He tells him, and Jim looks away, eyes darting to the wall. "We'll make it together."

That catches Jim's attention somewhat, and he smiles slowly. "I knew you weren't really mad."

"I am." Leonard counters, eyebrows raising. "But I can't be mad at your damn puppy dog eyes."

Jim beams, and Leonard strips out of his academy jacket so as not to get it mucky. He swipes at Jim's nose, pointing out the flour, and earns a blush from the kid. Enduring the "birthday surprise" is certainly worth it when he sees that pinky hue to Jim's cheeks.

They leave the kitchen in an awful mess, but Leonard figures he can clean it up in the morning or something, just not now, not when Jim's hopping from foot to foot like a little kid on Christmas morning. They haven't given the cake time to cool, so the icing was running, but neither of them care. It actually tastes pretty good.

They sit on the couch, and Jim shifts, finishing his second slice of cake and wiping his fingers on his jeans as he shifts. He pulls over a fairly slim looking parcel, wrapped in gold paper, and holds it out to him.

Leonard takes it, though he looks at Jim with raised eyebrows. "You shouldn't have." He tells him. Jim just nods at the gift, a signal to open it, and so with a sigh Leonard pulls back the paper.

He's breath-taken by what he sees. He hasn't seen a real life photo, not in a long time, and certainly not in a frame. But there it is, the selfie Jim took of them when they went to the beach last spring. Jim's tanned, his eyes are bright and his smile even brighter, and Leonard looks pretty damn happy too, starting to bronze in the California sunshine, dark eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. They have the holo, of course, but this is so much more precious.

"Thanks, Jim." He says, and if his tone and his gaze doesn't tell Jim just how happy he was with it, he pulls him across the sofa and kisses him, arms winding around his middle. He pulls away and heads to the bedroom, setting the photograph down his nightstand; the perfect place for it.

When he gets back, Jim's tucking into his third piece of cake, and even though he knows he'll end up with crumbs in his hair, Leonard rests his head on his chest and holds him close.


End file.
